


Everything Remains

by Prumery



Category: Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, there's mentions of past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4617063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prumery/pseuds/Prumery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred likes to pretend that Gilbert never left him. Today, it just gets a little harder</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Remains

**Author's Note:**

> I have been feeling like utter shit and i like people to suffer with me so have this

It was hard to say how long Gilbert lingered in Alfred’s house. Alfred could say months, he could say weeks. Or in this entire time, it could just be a part of a figment of his imagination.

There were a lot of things going hand in hand with this little delusion that Alfred had. Gilbert had left him so empty and so full, and it was confusing at how he was nurtured, only to be cut down.

It was hard to get out of bed. Either his scent lingered there, or Alfred was starting to hurt himself mentally with things like this. His bed feels cold, but he’s warm, and he finds it hard to do anything past breathing and blinking.

Which is hard to do because he cried last night and half of his nose is plugged up. There are stains on his cheeks from tears that he couldn’t help but let go and he stared at the wall, numbed down.

He had moved on, believe him, but… Anniversaries are always the hardest.

He’s not dead. Who would’ve thought? Gilbert made it through the chemo, and he made it through half of the fucking stabbings and everything bad.

And he was happy with Alfred. He was, he was really. Alfred knew it.

Well… Had known it.

He left… he doesn’t remember why he left him. He has gone over memories over and over again, and he’s not sure. He’s not sure what he said. He’s not…

He’s not sure what he did wrong?

He gave himself completely to Gilbert. He made sure that they worked, that he loved him, and Gilbert loved him too. He made sure to be there for him, and he made sure that Gilbert remembered him.

That he remembered he loved him.

It was apparent that spending almost five years with the man was not something he wanted.

Alfred went through his usual routine. Dress, brush hair, brush teeth, so on and so forth. It was usual, and it made him forget.

Two years.

Alfred was now in his early thirties. He spent his entire twenties with Gilbert. His entire party time. He thought he’d have a family, a picket fence, a nice house like Gilbert had envisioned.

Well he had been fucking wrong.

He ate like always. He ate the usual, eggs, bacon, and the works. He went outside, watered the plants.

Usual.

But today it was different.

Today, he felt it. He felt it as he finished watering the roses that Gilbert planted. It was going to be different, and he didn’t know how or why, but it was.

He picked up his satchel, and his keys and quickly walked to his college. He did have a car, but the fresh air reminded him of how nice he felt to be alive.

He had enough change to buy himself a cold coffee, and went up to the machine.

He, of course, found out that the machine was being a piece of shit, and took his quarters. He stared at it incredulously, calling it a little shit, and cursing it’s metallic mother and descendents, when he heard a laugh, and a tsk.

“Always the angry one when it came to beverages and food, huh, pretty boy?”

Alfred’s entire body went up in a shiver. It’d been two years since he heard that voice. It’d been two years since that voice whispered in his ear that he loved him, and it had been even longer since that voice said he loved him.

Alfred turned and there he was. The man he loved more than anyone in his life. More than he ever loved himself.

Gilbert smiled at him, his eyes soft. There was a sort of defensive look about him. His head hung a little lower, but his smile was there.

He was there.

“Tiger,”

Gilbert gave him such an amazing smile that made Alfred’s entire being melt. He wanted to touch him. To know that he wasn’t fake.

“I haven’t been called that in such a long time,” Gilbert’s voice was sad. It was a bit empty, as if it wasn’t used to talking too much.

“… I…,” Alfred’s eyes were wide and he was close to crying. He wanted to go to him, to figure out why he was back, and where he went and…

What he did wrong?

He had so many things to say, but they fell short. He had so many questions, but not one passed his lips. Gilbert smiled, reaching out to him, and patting his head.

There was something disturbing at how he touched him. Like he yearned for a return of affection. Like he didn’t want the return of affection.

Alfred then noticed the bruises on his wrists. He then noticed the limp the man had as he leaned. He noticed that even though there was no recent mark, that underneath his eye was a line of purple.

His eyes were sad. They were sad and Alfred felt tears start to roll down his eyes.

“Gilbert, I love you,”

Those were the first words Alfred had said to Gilbert in person since two years ago. He had said it over and over to his presence. To his dreams.

Gilbert smiled.

“I do too,”

But he left him. He kept walking, and Alfred wanted to go after him. He wanted to go, he wanted to. He knew that before Alfred, before him, before the dream of the house with a picket fence, before the chemo, before falling completely and utterly in love with Alfred,

There had been another man. There had been another person who hurt Gilbert. Who threatened him, and who wanted to hurt him, and he did hurt him. On more than one occasion.

He had said that he would come back. Gilbert had been scared, but Alfred nursed away the fear.

“He took you from me…,”

Alfred whispered, and Gilbert paused. He turned to Alfred, and in red eyes he saw fear. He saw regret, he saw everything that Alfred didn’t think about.

“… You’re safe. That’s all that matters,”

Alfred stared at him as he walked away, and he reached to him. He felt his throat swell, his knees shake and for the first time in a while.

He had hope.

He wanted Gilbert. He wanted Gilbert back.

“Don’t leave, please,… G… Gilbert,” He reached out to him and walked to him, his hands outstretched and he began to sob.

“Please, come back! Gilbert, I want to help i-“

Gilbert turned to him, and shook his head.

“Stay, Alfred. I don’t want you hurt…, why do you think I left without telling you?”

Alfred’s eyes were starting to blur, and he was too weak emotionally to move. He wanted to hold Gilbert in his arms, he wanted him back .

He loved him. He would walk over knives for Gilbert. He would do anything for him, even be in danger.

But Gilbert didn’t want that for him.

He reached to touch Gilbert, and sobbed.

“Please… i… I can’t… I can’t live without you,”

Gilbert cupped his cheek, but didn’t touch him. He didn’t let him touch him. His thumb ran over his cheek, wiping away a tear.

“You can… and you have… and you will… do it for me,”

Alfred felt him lean down, and press a kiss to him. It was anything but, it was quick and just a push of his lips against Alfred’s.

And then he leaves him.

Alfred cries. He cries because Gilbert leaves again. And because know, he knows he’s hurting. He’s hurting more than those times on the table as he was doing chemo. He hurts more than the times he was practically stabbed with a needle repeatedly.

He hurts more than anything in his life.

At least Alfred could pretend that Gilbert had moved on.

Now… now all he wants is to stop imaging what the man is doing to him.

Alfred liked to pretend.

And he pretends that Gilbert lingers in his bed. That Gilbert is there.

That Gilbert is his, and only his and he’s okay.

He likes to pretend…


End file.
